


Buckle Up, Baby

by AndreaLyn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Belt Buckle Appreciation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 04:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18176021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: One day, the way Michael Guerin wears that belt of his won't get Alex inconceivably hot and bothered. Today's not that day.





	Buckle Up, Baby

In his head, he has a list of his favorite things about Guerin, which is a permanent fixture in the back of his mind. When he wakes up, he thinks of his lips. When he eats, he thinks of his laugh. Falling asleep, it’s the warmth of his fingertips.

The items on the list shuffle in priority, but there’s one thing that rarely shifts from being constantly on his mind.

It’s the way he wears his belt, how he tucks his shirt into it, how it always needs to be the first thing you see when you look at him, how he walks into a room hips first. When Alex is this close to him and he’s wearing it, everything else falls down the list. Lips, fingers, voice, passion, intelligence, they all fade.

The only thing he gives a fuck about is that belt. It’s like magnetic north, drawing Alex’s eyes to it. Tonight is no different. Alex’s eyes are caught again while Guerin lingers by the bar, his shirt tucked into his waistband, that damn huge belt buckle grabbing his eye. 

Alex remembers his breathing exercises and runs himself through them. He tells himself that he’s a grown adult in a public place and he’s been way longer without sex before. The difference between then and now is that _then_ had been in the middle of a literal war zone where sex had been the last thing on his mind.

 _Now_ is two beers warming his body and Guerin rocking back and forth with his heel against the bar, leading with his hips as he leans his elbows back against the bar, talking with Isobel. 

Every now and again, he catches Guerin staring at him and he defiantly refuses to look away.

Alex rubs his lower lip with his thumb. 

If Guerin can call attention to his dick with that belt buckle, Alex can play that game with his mouth and a _promise_ of what that could mean. They’re caught together like this in this little game of teasing, right up until Guerin leans over to whisper something to Isobel. He slides away from the bar, heading towards Alex where he stops at the table with both hands smacked on top of it. 

“Can I help you, private?” 

Alex grabs his bottle of beer and sips. The liquid is cool down his throat, his neck elongated as he swallows. Guerin _exhales_. Alex stares. 

Yeah, he can definitely help Alex.

“Why are you asking?” he replies, aware of his coworkers from the base beside him.

“You keep staring my way. Thought maybe I was doing something that offended you.”

 _The only offensive thing about you is how dressed you are_ , thinks Alex.

“Maybe we should discuss this somewhere else. Privately.” He’s loading his words with a vicious edge to overcompensate. His friends whisper heatedly behind him, and one leans in to ask if Alex wants help with the “situation”.

“No. I can handle Guerin.”

Guerin’s grinning at him. It’s not exactly a good cover. Alex is trying to make it seem like Guerin is about to get his ass kicked. Guerin’s giving up the show, making it seem pretty clear that his ass is going to get a lot more tender care than Alex is trying to imply.

When they’re alone in the hallway, Guerin buries his fingers in Alex’s hair and pins him to the wall. He’s pressed flush against him, rocking his hips against Alex’s. “You can handle me all by yourself?” 

“Privately.” Alex raises his brow, questioning whether Guerin even heard him. 

“This isn’t private?”

Alex grabs Guerin’s ass to haul him in for a kiss, aiming to disarm. He pulls him away from the wall, shoves into the bathroom. Then, it’s a frantic checklist to make sure they’re not caught.

Check the stalls.

Lock the door.

Get his hands back on Guerin, grab that belt buckle. 

He pins Guerin to the wall again, wrapping his hand around the buckle, and it’s so fucking big that he has to strain the splay of his fingers to do it, hauling Guerin in flush against him. “Do you want everyone looking at your dick?” he exhales. Because that’s what tucking his shirt in like this does. 

He rubs his thumb over the embossed silver, dragging it over the markings until he thinks he could gain callouses from just this touch. Guerin stops kissing Alex’s neck to let out a ragged breath when Alex tightens his grip and yanks on the belt, dragging Guerin against him for more friction. 

“Got you looking,” Guerin mumbles, sounding ragged and like he’s a complete lost cause. “It worked.”

Alex looks down between them so he can pay proper attention to the notches. He scrapes his blunt thumbnail against the leather and nudges his thumb up against the buckle again. “Did you start tucking it like that when I got back into town?”

Guerin shakes his head to deny it. That means it’s not just for Alex. That means Roswell, all of them, have been looking while he’s away.

Alex grips the buckle again and uses it to haul Guerin into a messy, possessive kiss, pressed up against the filthy bathroom tile walls. “You did it where everyone could see,” he hisses. 

Finally, Alex relents his hold. He lets go of the buckle so he can start frantically unbuckling it, even though he’s still intent on hauling Guerin around by the buckle as much as he can.

Sinking to his knees with the help of the wall beside him, he shoves Guerin’s jeans down, but not off, overcome with the need that’s been driving him crazy all night. His fingers keep rubbing the embossing of the buckle as he helps Guerin out of them. The buckle clatters on the tiles, echoes against the bathroom walls. 

When he looks back up, Alex lets out a disbelieving huff, even if he’s _not_ unhappy about what he finds.

“Commando? Seriously?”

“Man’s gotta be optimistic,” Guerin replies, with that stupid smile of his, like he’s winning this game. He’s cautious with Alex, a hand on his cheek, concerned gaze flicking to his leg. “Hey,” murmured softly isn’t that machismo, but Alex likes these little glimmers into Guerin’s softer side, so he allows it. “You okay? Your leg…?”

Alex doesn’t want to deal with sympathy, so he grabs Guerin’s hips and pins him back against the wall to shut him up. He wraps his lips around Guerin’s cock, that first taste so familiar. If Guerin wants to show him pity, Alex wants to show no mercy in return. He knows what Guerin likes. They’ve done this infrequently over the last decade, but it’s enough to know what Guerin needs to be taken apart.

First, Alex on his knees, hair a mess. His eyes flicking up to catch his gaze. He knows how Guerin likes to watch Alex work his lip with his teeth, run his tongue over it in the prelude to the blowjob. Then, once he has Guerin pinned, unable to move, he knows what Guerin likes most.

You’d think hard, fast, and rough.

No. That’s for other people. That’s for the women who get Guerin when Alex isn’t here to claim him. Alex will make sure Guerin doesn’t remember any of them after this. 

He works Guerin with his tongue and lips, paying more attention to the head of his cock. His fingers splay as they apply pressure to his skin, sliding down his thigh, around to his ass to grab him before sliding back, gentle with his balls as he teases and tickles, a barely there touch. His tongue works slow, lascivious, and he’s as careful as if he’s learning Guerin for the first time. 

It’s not time for anything else. Not yet.

“Alex.” When Guerin starts with his name, that’s not it, either. 

He keeps up the pace. Slow, methodical, sliding over the tip, off enough to brush kisses in teasing. His thumb brushes against Guerin’s balls, sliding under and rubbing between his cock and his ass, before sliding back to grab his balls with more force than before.

“Fuck, Alex,” is heated, sharper. 

That’s when he knows Guerin can handle more. He eases off and deliberately spends his time licking the inside of his finger and thumb, getting them good and slick without lube. He works his curled fingers over Guerin’s shaft and slides in with his mouth again, working steadily now. Guerin’s ready for the pace, no teasing necessary. 

He’s babbling Alex’s name, a whole slew of nonsense, and then, Alex’s favorite part. He starts with the pet names, from _baby_ to _darling_ to the more ridiculous _my constellation_ and _stelliform_. 

It’s a rush, same as it always is. Guerin wants him. Only Alex can make him plead like this. In these moments, he belongs to Alex and the world doesn’t exist. Every time he wears that belt buckle, Alex thinks of this. Some lucky night like this, he gets everything he wants.

Alex works his mouth with a faster pace now. He wants Guerin to abandon his control and _give up_ , give in to him. With the sounds he’s making, he’s so close. The way he smacks his hand against the wall, the tangle of his scarred hand in his hair, Alex knows it won’t be long.

“ _F_ \--”

There. That’s it.

“Alex.” Then, he breathes out in that uniquely Guerin way. He always does it around him. That shuddering soft breath that feels like it belongs to Alex. “Fuck, Alex,” comes with another breath. 

Guerin rocks his hips forward and comes, Alex’s mouth working the head, his hand stroking his shaft. He comes for Alex, the two of them entwined. It doesn’t matter that they’re in a filthy bathroom. When he eases back, mouth full, he catches Guerin’s eye and basks in how Guerin grabs him by the nape of his neck. It’s possessive, it’s firm, it’s a show that Alex is his. 

Alex leans over and spits into the nearest toilet, wiping the last of the come off his lips. When he looks back, Guerin’s eyes are roaming over Alex’s body and how hard Alex is, that determined gleam in his eye the way he always gets when he’s tasked with solving a problem. 

“Hand?”

Alex nods, letting Guerin haul him back up, spin them, press Alex to the wall. One hand holds him in place. Guerin’s thumb is nothing but gentle strokes against the bare skin at his shoulder and neck. The other, between them, wraps around his cock once he’s shoved his jeans and boxers out of the way. This touch, as opposed to the one at his neck, is all urgency and heat. 

It’s crazy, but Alex swears he feels like he’s floating. Even unsteady as he is, he knows Guerin won’t let him fall. 

With the taste of Guerin on his lips, the urgency of his strokes, Alex knows it’s not going to be long. He rocks his hips into Guerin’s hand and Guerin, he never looks away. He doesn’t even _blink_. You’d have to be staring at Guerin to see it, but Alex is. So, when he mumbles words, mouths them, Alex sees them and basks in them.

 _I love you_ , only he hasn’t said it, not really.

He’s mouthed it against Alex’s skin. He’s started to say it. He’s mumbled it. Luckily, Alex feels like he speaks every language Guerin has to offer. That Guerin loves him, he’s never doubted. They show it with their bodies easier than with their words, but there’s no doubt. Guerin flicks the underside of his thumb against the head of Alex’s cock and his body rocks forward. 

He wants to say those words back.

He can’t, not out loud, but he hopes Guerin sees it in the way he looks at him, adoringly. 

Or, better, when he comes and the name on his lips is, “Michael.”

From the way Guerin smiles at him, it doesn’t matter that he hadn’t said it. He _knows_. 

Alex will get there. One day, when they’re tangled up in a public bathroom, he’ll be able to say it without fear of someone overhearing. If Guerin keeps shoving that belt buckle in his face, he knows these rushed encounters won’t end, and during one of them, he plans to get those words out. 

They don’t have very long before someone comes knocking. They have even less time before someone goes to complain to Maria about the men’s room being locked, so they redress as quickly as they can. Alex leverages himself and leans on the wall, leaning down to grab Guerin’s belt buckle, watching as Guerin hops a little into his jeans.

“Here.”

“Nah,” Guerin denies, with a smirk. “You wear it. Gotta keep those pants up somehow.”

With one last wink, he turns to wash his hands, pulling his t-shirt over his jeans while Alex threads the belt into the loops with a smug, self-satisfied feeling coursing through his body.

* * *

Maria narrows her eyes and pokes at Alex’s very big belt buckle that he keeps fiddling with, which he hadn’t been wearing when he went to the bathroom. “New fashion piece you’re trying out?” 

She’d had a complaint that the door to the bathroom had been locked, but it looks like there’s no trouble now.

Alex doesn’t get a chance to answer. Before he can, Guerin walks out of the men’s room next, his jeans sagging on his ass, his white t-shirt pointedly _not_ tucked into a belt. Maria raises a brow, like she doesn’t want to say anything, but she’s _thinking_ it.

Alex shrugs, not a shred of guilt in his expression. In fact, he looks smug. 

“It’s my turn to wear it,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the arc of the top of it.

From nearby, she hears the sharp intake of breath Guerin takes in. 

“Ugh,” says Maria, dismayed. “I hate that I know what that face means. Out,” Maria commands sharply. 

Alex tucks his shirt into his belt and turns over his shoulder to watch Guerin following, the arm slung around his waist only a pretense to get his fingers all over that buckle as they leave the bar. “So, uh,” he murmurs against Alex’s ear, voice low and hot and heavy, “who do I have to see about getting a belt like that for myself?”

“I think I know a guy,” Alex replies. “If you’re really good, maybe you can even take it off him.”

From Guerin’s smile, he doesn’t plan to be _good_ anytime soon.

Alex can live with that, too.


End file.
